


an exercise in vanity

by aces



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-21
Updated: 2011-10-21
Packaged: 2020-10-05 18:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20493035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aces/pseuds/aces
Summary: Linear timelines?  We don’t need no stinking linear timelines.





	an exercise in vanity

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ user ionlylurkehere for the dw_femslash ficathon. You give me timestreams-crossing and femslash, of course I’m going to involve Ace somehow. Vague mentions of NAs and BF audios shenanigans, but that should probably also be expected; and general spoilers for the latest series and River's storyline.

Ace McShane’s bike crashed into existence in the Welsh countryside in 1996, and she slammed on the brakes so she wouldn’t run River Song over.

Ace took her helmet off, shaking out her hair and looked at River, who stood with her arms folded and a murderous glint in her eye. “Hiya,” Ace said, “what’s wrong this time?”

River stalked around the bike in order to swing herself on behind Ace. “That _man_,” she said, wrapping her arms around Ace’s waist. “Marries me and then leaves me in prison for his murder, who the hell does he think he is?”

Ace blinked. “You realize your relationships are even more fucked up than mine?” she inquired after contemplating that statement for a moment, gunning the bike’s engine. “You also realize I was coming here to—”

“Pick this up, yes, I know,” River said, holding up a small and delicate, clever and dangerous little silver-plated alien gun that could fry molecules at fifty paces. “Can we please go somewhere else?”

“Anywhere in particular?”

River put her chin on Ace’s shoulder, and Ace’s lips curved slowly upward. “Somewhere _fun_,” River said, and Ace laughed.

“I think that can be arranged,” said Ace.

*

“No, really,” River said loudly and distinctly, though she wasn’t sure why she was bothering; nobody was coming to help. She thought, perhaps, someday the Doctor would arrive when she needed him, but she didn’t think she was quite there with him yet. Possibly because the last time she’d seen him she’d poisoned him. A little awkward expecting a rescue from him after that, even if she’d proceeded to save his life, but she’d work that out later.

“Really,” she repeated, moderating her pitch and tone a little, “there is absolutely no need to shoot me.”

The Chikaree chattered back at her, excitedly or angrily—it was so hard to tell, all those feathers and tentacles—and gestured at her with their guns, and she held up her hands to show they were empty. “I really wouldn’t recommend you do that,” she said, her voice rising again despite herself.

“Yeah,” another voice interjected, “I really wouldn’t.” Dorotheé sauntered into view from behind the Chikaree, holding up a luminescent bauble; they all flocked around her immediately. “This what you were looking for, mates? See? Nothing to fuss about, is there? Why don’t you let my friend here go?”

“Friend?” River repeated involuntarily, raising her eyebrows. “I’m sorry, madam, but I’ve _only_ met you once, and _you_—”

Dorotheé held up a hand and, despite herself, River went quiet. Dorotheé gravely turned over the bauble—its transmission and communication capabilities were second to none—to the head Chikaree and then carefully slipped in between them, avoiding both feathers and tentacles as a sign of respect. She walked up to River and took River’s hand, and River sighed out a little.

“Thanks,” she said quietly. “I really didn’t expect it to be that easy this time.”

Dorotheé grinned at her, then leant forward to give her a kiss and River responded willingly, no matter what she’d been saying two minutes before. Dorotheé stepped back after a moment. “C’mon,” she said, “I think you’d like a ride on my bike.”

River grinned delightedly. “There’s a _bike_?” she said.

*

Ace was cut off from Hex and the Doctor. Soldiers were surrounding her, she had no way to contact them and tell them they were walking into a trap, and there wasn’t even a damned thing she could do to save herself.

“Another bloody day at the office,” she muttered under her breath as she breathlessly ran from one piece of cover to the next. She was saving her ammunition; she didn’t have a lot left.

“Your days at the office are so much more exciting than most people’s, though, you must admit,” somebody else replied in amusement behind the piece of cover Ace had just chosen, and she almost stumbled backwards into the line of fire in shock. But the woman grabbed the front of her shirt and hauled her in and pushed her down just as the enemy started firing. “Really, darling,” the woman scolded, “I know you have a better sense of self-preservation than that. Admittedly not much better,” she allowed, “his friends so rarely do—but _honestly_.”

“You!” Ace gasped in sudden recognition. “You were the woman at that street market, the one who snogged me! _And_ the one who—” She stopped, flushing in remembered embarrassment and adolescent grief.

“So I was darling, so I was,” the woman said comfortably. “Fancy meeting you here, eh?” She briefly stood up in order to shoot, then ducked down again.

“How did you _get_ here?” Ace said. “This planet’s been cut off from the tourist lanes for years, nobody comes here except more fighters. And me and my mates.”

“Didn’t you know?” The woman sounded surprised and amused all at once. “I’m one of your mates.”

“You didn’t come with us,” Ace said. “Unless you’re a stowaway.”

“Mmm, not this time,” the woman said and stood up to fire again. “Is that weapon of yours for show or are you actually going to use it?”

“It’s seen plenty of use,” Ace said through gritted teeth. “That’s the problem, I don’t have any—wicked, thanks,” she said as the woman handed her some extra rounds. “You still haven’t told me your name.”

“River Song, sweetie,” the woman said as she hunched down once more. “Honestly, Dorothy, the least you could do is remember my name.”

“My name is Ace,” she stated, jamming the clip back into her gun and leaning around their cover to fire. “_Ace_ McShane, alright?”

She turned back and saw the woman—River Song—looking at her in puzzlement. And then her frown cleared and she smiled. “Of course,” she said. “I should have realized.”

It was Ace’s turn to frown, but before she could speak, River chose that moment to stand up and fire again. She remained standing, surveying the ground in front of them. “Right,” she said, “that’s your enemies taken care of, and I do believe I hear your friends coming this way.” She was right; Ace could hear Hex’s distinctive—and frantic—yelling, mingled with the Doctor’s roar of anger. River turned to look down and give Ace another blinding grin. “My cue to head out, I think.”

“Wait,” Ace said, snatching for the woman’s hand. “Don’t I—shouldn’t you—the Doctor will—”

“I really don’t think I should meet him right now,” the woman—River—said softly. She squeezed Ace’s hand, reminding Ace that she was still holding it. River leant forward to give her an almost chaste kiss on the lips, and Ace remembered another kiss from years ago. She grabbed River and pulled her in for a longer, more lingering kiss.

She could feel River’s lips curving upward against hers, and then River stepped back, licked her lips, gave Ace another grin, and slipped away.

“Oh my god, Ace,” Hex gasped when he and the Doctor stumbled up to her, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Ace said, still staring after where River had disappeared. “Yeah. Couldn’t be better.”

“How the hell did you survive that?” Hex said, and Ace turned back to her friends.

“I had some unexpected help,” she said.

*

“Oh please, Prime Minister,” River laughed richly, “do you honestly think that threat will work on me?”

“That one might not,” another voice said, and River looked up in surprise. “But what about this?”

“Darling!” River said delightedly. “I had no idea you were here!”

“’Course not,” Dorotheé said wryly. “Sort of the point, yeah?” She sauntered around the Prime Minister’s overly large desk and slipped the tiny but deadly little gun out of River’s hand. “I really don’t think you want to do that.”

“Oh, but sweetheart,” River breathed, leaning in closer, “I really think I do.”

“Nah,” Dorotheé told her, “not worth it; the Bowtie of Rassilon isn’t even real.”

“What?” River looked disappointed. “Are you certain of that?” The other woman nodded. “But I made _sure_ it was a genuine article and not yet another fake.”

“Sorry,” Dorotheé said with a shrug. “These things happen?”

River frowned at her consideringly, then leant in to whisper, “You’re not just saying that so I won’t steal it from him, are you?”

Dorotheé laughed. “What he hell would I care if you stole some rubbish old bowtie or not?”

River laughed. “Good point,” she said. She peeked around the other woman to speak to the Prime Minister again. “You lucked out this time, sir; you can keep it. But honestly, next time you go dealing on the intergalactic black market for ancient artifacts, couldn’t you at _least_ purchase the genuine article?” She shook her head and looked at Dorotheé again. “Come on, darling, I’m sure we’ve got lots of catching up to do.”

She took the other woman’s hand, and they slipped out of the Prime Minister’s office.

*

“Piss off,” Ace said immediately to the woman who approached her. She looked again and got even angrier. “Who the hell are you?—no, just piss off.”

The woman ignored her, sitting down next to her and putting an arm around Ace’s shoulders. Ace shrugged her off. “I _said_ piss off!”

“I’m not going to do that,” the woman said simply. She didn’t try to put her arm around Ace again, at least. She was beautiful, with auburn red hair in tight little corkcrew curls and wearing really nice jeans. “You need somebody right now. A professor even, I’d say, only he won’t do this time, will he?” She smiled widely, gently. “I’m a professor too, if it helps.”

“I don’t need anybody.”

“Yes, you do,” she said equitably, and Ace seriously wanted to hit her with a baseball bat. But she wasn’t a Dalek, and she wasn’t an enemy, probably, so Ace couldn’t do that. “Who was he?” the woman asked gently after a moment of moody silence, and Ace hunched in further.

“Nobody,” she muttered. “Nothing. He—it—it doesn’t matter.”

“It always matters,” the woman said. “It always matters when somebody hurts us, or breaks our hearts.”

“It was my fault,” Ace burst out.

“It matters even more when we broke our own hearts,” the woman said, still gentle, and Ace turned to her impatiently to tell her off properly.

The woman met her, though, and put a hand on her cheek before she could speak, and Ace stopped, confused. “There will be others,” she said with a smile, and her hair was wrong but she reminded Ace of another woman she’d met, not that long ago. “This isn’t the end of the world.”

“I know what the end of the world looks like,” Ace growled. “Been there, done that, loads of times. This is just _stupid_.”

The woman gave her another hug, and this time Ace let her, resting her face against the woman’s shoulder for a tiny moment of grief. “Yeah,” the woman said with a deep sigh, “I know.”

*

“I really enjoy your work,” River grinned at one of her heroes, proud of herself for not gushing too much. “_Down Among the Dead Men_ is just brilliant, a really solid introduction to archaeological field work for the common person.”

“Oh, do keep going on,” Professor Summerfield grinned back, perched on the barstool next to River in the hotel bar. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

Bernice Summerfield—Benny, she insisted River call her after their third pint—was tall and witty and in her element at this professional conference. River had found herself battling an unexpected bout of—shyness? Stage fright?—attending her first such meeting and was grateful to this woman for being so utterly down to earth about the whole matter.

(It was also, admittedly, the best opening she had to talk to somebody who really knew the Doctor. Somebody who wasn’t her parents, anyway.)

“I think we have in fact just closed down the bar,” Benny said a few hours later, looking up at the deserted bar and the bar-bot politely waiting for them to bugger off so it could wipe down their table. (They’d moved to a booth eons before, more comfortable than the stools.) “How extraordinary, I didn’t realize they had a closing time on this planet.”

“You’re not tired already, are you?” River said impulsively, reaching across the table to take Benny’s hand. “Couldn’t I persuade you to come back to my room to finish our conversation?”

Benny’s eyebrows quirked, disappearing under her fringe. “You interest me strangely,” she said, and River winked. “Oh, what the hell,” Benny said, “it’s not like you’re my student or something, is it?”

They walked out of the bar on their collective four feet, nary a stumble between them despite the amount of alcohol they’d consumed. River was secretly impressed with how effortless Benny made it look; but then, her alcohol consumption was something of a legend among other archaeologists.

Somebody was standing on the grand lobby staircase, apparently waiting for them. Deep in their conversation, they only noticed her when she refused to move to allow them to pass.

“Ace!” Benny gasped at the exact same moment that River blinked, “Dorotheé?”

Benny and River stared at each other. “Honestly,” Dorotheé said, “I should have expected you two would find each other at some point. Right, whose room are we going to?”

*

“Psst,” somebody said, and Ace looked around in confusion. “Over here!”

Ace glanced at the Professor’s retreating back—he was still chattering, had no idea she wasn’t still right behind him as they trekked through the outdoor market on the planet Yvrandros, looking for a really excellent pair of spoons—then back at the mysteriously robed figure beckoning to her from around the corner of a clay-bricked building.

“Hurry!” the somebody said, just barely audible over the white noise of haggling and the exchanging of goods, and Ace slipped through the stalls.

“At last,” the woman said, sweeping her hood off to display bright blonde curls and a face older than Ace would have expected. “What the hell took you so long, Dorothy?”

Ace drew back instantly in anger. “Who the hell told you that was my name?”

“Why, you did,” the woman said, momentarily confused. And then she smiled and held out a hand, running it up and down Ace’s arm. “Darling, it’s been ages since I’ve seen you; you’re worse than he is about returning calls, you know that?”

Ace flinched away from her touch. “What are you talking about? Who are you?”

The woman blinked at her for a long, slow moment, and looked her up and down. And then she leant back against the wall behind her and groaned.

“For the goddess’ _sake_,” she sighed, “can’t I meet _anyone_ in the right order?”

Ace blinked. She turned around, half-thinking of running after the Doctor, bringing him back to help her sort out this problem, half angry with herself for contemplating asking for somebody else’s help, even the Professor’s.

The woman took her hand, surprising her again, and when she swung around to start yelling again the woman pressed herself up against Ace and kissed her more thoroughly than Ace had ever been kissed in her life.

“Bloody hell,” Ace gasped after the woman finally stepped back.

“Consider it a pre-emptive thank-you,” the woman said with that same wide, wide grin. She slipped her hood back on and started walking away. “See you later, sweetie!”

Ace took a step after her in confusion, then heard the Doctor’s ever-so-slightly frantic, “Ace? Aaaaace!” and decided that for once in her short life, discretion was probably the better part of valor.

*

“_Ace_,” River gasped as she came, and then she pulled the other woman up so she could snog her senseless before collapsing back against the bed.

Ace’s smugness was practically palpable, but River didn’t really give a damn. “Thought you might enjoy that,” Ace said, propping herself up on an elbow next to River, smiling down at her and running a gentle hand up and down River’s stomach. “You were far too bloody tense for your own good; I could tell you needed a release.”

“Mmmm.” River almost purred like a cat, grinning sleepily up at the other woman. “You always have the best ideas, don’t you? Thanks for breaking me out of prison, Ace; I really did need that.”

“No worries,” Ace said. She had a funny look on her face. “You used to call me Dorotheé,” she said after a thoughtful moment.

River’s brow creased. “So I did, but you never seemed to like it when I ran into you after the first couple times,” she said. “Why? Don’t tell me you like it again?”

Ace shrugged. “Dunno,” she said. “I used to hate being called Dorothy.” River suddenly heard a distinction in the name, in a way she never had, and she slowly dissolved into laughter. “Oi!” Ace pushed her shoulder. “No laughing at me! See if I ever break you out of prison again.”

“Sorry, sorry,” River said and raised herself up to give the other woman a nice and leisurely kiss. “You’re beautiful no matter what name you go by,” she told Ace, and Ace rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah.” She pushed at River’s shoulder again, but affectionately, and River decided it was probably time she repaid her debt to the other woman.

*

River was buried deep in the ancient Icrandans’ social and political structures, almost literally since she was walking and reading at the same time--and making notes about everything the historian had got wrong about the culture--when she ran smack dab into somebody she was _quite_ sure hadn’t been there a second ago. She would have seen them out of the corner of her eye, no matter what other people thought when they saw her walking and reading at the same time.

(Walking was _boring_. At least reading for class while she did so killed two birds with one stone.)

She didn’t actually run into someone, so much as the some_thing_ that the someone was sitting on. Her sack went flying, spilling every single book and computer padd it had in it, and she landed heavily, yelling and flailing and cursing.

She looked up to continue cursing at the person who had appeared so rudely in front of her, only to find the person grinning and already holding a hand out to help her up. Her other hand held River’s diary, the blue one the Doctor had given her, and River snatched it back immediately.

“Sorry,” the woman said, after River was standing again. She took her helmet off and tossed her head to shake out a mass of long brown hair; now that River looked again, the woman was older than she would have expected. “Mistimed that a bit.”

“Who the hell are you?” River said, hands on her hips.

“Dorotheé,” the woman said with a wide, wide grin. “And I think, River Song, you need to broaden your education a bit.”

*

“Devastating as I am in corsets,” River remarked, “they’re still a bloody pain to wear.”

She had at some point in her varied and illustrious career learned to speak clearly without moving her lips. It came in handy now, as the portraitist tended to squawk and splutter a great deal if she moved too much while he worked on her painting.

“I gave you the option, didn’t I?” Dorotheé replied with a smirk. She lounged in a comfortable chair somewhere behind the portraitist’s easel, so she could look upon both River and the work in progress. “Boy _or_ girl dress. Is it my fault you chose girl?”

Dorotheé, of course, was dressed in a dashing pair of pantaloons and a sumptuous, full-skirted coat. She’d just come from a month-long trip to nineteenth-century France and had been itching to wear trousers again, in any form, and pantaloons certainly showed off her legs to advantage.

River rolled her eyes. “Masculine dress in this century does nothing for a woman with cleavage,” she lectured. “_I_ think you just enjoy taking off my underwear. Slowly.”

Dorotheé’s hired portraitist paid no attention to their conversation, so long as River did not move while he worked; it was one reason Dortheé had chosen him for the work. “_Some_body taught me that patience and building expectations can lead to some really amazing results,” Dorotheé pointed out, looking airily at her nails.

River’s smile may have just become a trifle more amused, a little less forced from remaining on her lips for so long. “Touché,” she said, and Dorotheé grinned.

She glanced out the window. “Don’t worry, the light’s beginning to fade,” she said. “You’ll be able to move soon.”

“Whatever will I do with you then?” River wondered.

“Dinner first,” Dorotheé said firmly.

“What on earth possessed you to commission this painting?” River asked later, fluffing out her skirts and adjusting her bosom. Dorotheé considered helping her adjustments, but she really was starving. River’s portraitist had already departed for the day.

Dorotheé laid a hand against her cheek, and River stilled, looking at her with sudden concern. “I wanted to make sure I’d remember you,” Dorotheé said at last. She leant forward and lightly kissed River on the lips. “And I wanted to appease your vanity.”

River grinned and gave her a much more thorough kiss. “Good answer,” she said, and they went off arm-in-arm to dinner.


End file.
